


He Made it All Make Sense

by Checkerbox



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, Brainwashing, Gen, a sort of prequel short to my venatori!dorian fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 05:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: Alexius is not expecting Dorian to arrive in the middle of the night, drenched and babbling with blood in his teeth.But he is not one to spurn fortune when it smiles upon him.





	He Made it All Make Sense

**Author's Note:**

> As it says in the tags--this is set in the same verse as my fic wherein Dorian is a member of the Venatori (All This Venatori Nonsense). There are some minor (probably easily guessed) spoilers for that fic. You have been warned.

In all the time Gereon Alexius has known Dorian, he has never been witness to him making an entrance that isn’t overly dramatic and disruptive.

It’s a ghastly night, rain falling down in sheets as he stares hard at notes that squiggle together for his tired eyes. The sound of the knocking suddenly breaking the rhythm of the patterned storm is both a grating annoyance and a welcome distraction, and he stands to leave his study for it before the sound wakes Felix.

There are no longer servants in his home to answer the door for him. They talked too much.

Before Alexius can even reach the handle, the door is flung wide open and in staggers his visitor, blood trickling from his mouth and tear ducts, bent over, drenched, and mumbling. He barely has time to take in the sight before he is struggling to support the young man’s weight in his arms, nearly toppling right to the floor.

“Dorian!? What are you doing here?” The press of his weight is momentary—Dorian’s legs clearly work. It is his balance that seems completely compromised. Alexius is able to at least lead him to his late wife’s fainting couch, where he is not at risk of cracking his head open. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

What falls from Dorian’s mouth, in addition to blood-flecked spittle, is a stream of nonsense that only sounds approximately like language, his eyes unfocused and glazed as he trembles and twitches. He has apparently bitten his tongue.

“Father?”

Alexius’ eyes snap up to see Felix lingering in the archway that leads to their rooms, face even more gaunt and grey than normal in the dim lighting. He is looking at Dorian with a fine blend of concern and intrigue, and Alexius swallows down the urge to snap at him for being out of bed. He never could help the boy’s curiosity.

“Go back to sleep, Felix.”

“But isn’t that—”

His voice hardens, just a little. “We will talk in the morning.”

Felix gives him a look that has become sadly familiar lately, and withdraws. Alexius dismisses thoughts of it from his mind—he will mend his relationship with his son when he is healthy and whole, and if the state of things now cause him pain it is the kind he would simply have to weather. For now there are more pressing matters.

He recognizes the particular flavor of magic that has come into the house with Dorian. Gently, he puts his hands to the boy’s temples, speaking as softly as he is able. “I am going to need some of your blood, Dorian. Do not be alarmed.” There is an unsteady, jerking nod on Dorian’s end, even as he does not look Alexius in the eye. He fetches a small knife, barely longer than his thumb, and carefully takes Dorian’s hand in his. He slices a neat line through his palm, letting the blood well as Dorian flinches.

For just a moment, Alexius is overwhelmed by the power thrumming within, eyes shuddering closed. He has for some time now been experimenting with blood magic, it’s true, but always his own blood. And there is only so much power that he can take from shallow cuts and small bowls that make him dizzy even as he draws from them. By comparison, Dorian is a vibrant wellspring, humming with the unrestrained energy of creation and life. For that moment, he entertains the notion of slicing through his former apprentice’s neck and taking all that power for himself, for—for Felix.

Then, with an uncomfortable tug on his conscience, the temptation is gone. He smears the blood on his fingers and then puts them back to Dorian’s temples, murmuring a small litany in Tevene that makes the air in the room crackle.

When he pulls away, Dorian’s eyes are no longer fogged and unseeing. Much of the damage will take far longer to fix, but it is enough to bring some level of coherency to the boy. The first thing he says, voice cracked and shaking, is, “My f-f-father.”

Something cold and hard grips Alexius’ insides, and he stiffens. “That _complete and_ _utter fool_.”

Alexius and Halward have not spoken since Dorian’s apprenticeship was broken off, and even then their correspondences were increasingly more scarce as time went on. Still, this did not mean he was blind to the problems that he had been having with Dorian’s…inclinations. How could he be, given their introduction? But the sheer scope of how royally Halward has _fucked up _offends him on a level of himself he’s thought beyond his reach for months. He pulls away from Dorian to rant, gesticulating in anger.

“Throwing away such a promising and talented son over a little matter like this. Does he not realize how fortunate he is that you are healthy at all!? The single-minded _spinelessness _of that man!” He looks back, waving a hand in the boy’s direction. “And to turn to something so indelicate as a solution—like taking gaatlok to a treasure box. Given the _state of our nation _I suppose I should not be surprised--!”

Something catches. He remembers himself.

He turns back to Dorian, who has started rocking back and forth to himself, looking down at his feet as though noticing for the first time that he is not wearing shoes.

“Does he know you’re here?” When Dorian doesn’t respond immediately, Alexius kneels, gripping his chin to force him to look up. “Dorian, does your father know where you have gone?”

“No. N-no, no, I…” The words tumble from his lips with none of their usual grace, halting and uneven. “The-the door was unlocked, and I…”

“Then for all he knows you will have simply gone missing…”

He frames Dorian’s face with his hands, and feels the motion tug at a familiar wound inside. Of heated words and the prickling rage of _stubborn youths_ who gave up too quickly. Dorian, cheeks flushed with drink as he told Alexius exactly what he thought about his chances, accusing him of being a poor father for spending all of his remaining time in his study instead of with his son. The intractable anger in his expression, fingers clenched, chin high as they exchanged verbal blows.

There is no hardness in his apprentice’s eyes now; now he is pliable and meek, silver tongue chipped.

“It’s alright now, Dorian. Everything is going to be alright.”

Ideas are forming unbidden in his mind. Plans that he had dismissed for lack of competent assistance. He looks down at Dorian, still shivering and leaning into his hands like he is his only anchor to the real world, and wonders how much of his brilliant mind is salvageable, exactly. Alexius smooths his hands down to Dorian’s neck, then his shoulders.

“You are going to be fine.” He says slowly, carefully. Dorian nods, relieved, tears beginning to blur his dulled eyes. “I am going to take care of you.”

“Okay.” He opens his mouth, jaw working slowly as though trying to speak further, but all that he manages is, “M-my father—M-my—”

“No. No, put him out of your thoughts, Dorian.” Surely, someone up there, be it the Maker or the gods of the old Imperium, is smiling on him, to grant him this favor. This opportunity. “Put everything out of your thoughts. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

Alexius puts his fingers to Dorian’s sliced palm again, re-applying the power of his blood and imbuing it with his will.

Dorian’s eyes glaze over completely, the cracked pieces of his mind no longer smashing each other to fit together. “…listen to the sound of your voice,” he murmurs.

Something small inside of him rebels; Alexius quickly quells it, brushing blood over his new assistant’s forehead. “Let me do all the worrying, from now on.

_Let me do all the thinking.”_

And

For a time, Dorian does.


End file.
